


house rules

by quakeriders



Series: acotar au week [2]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21746635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quakeriders/pseuds/quakeriders
Summary: “No, Rhys. Like I said, it’s okay, don’t worry about it.” Mor said, securing the phone between her ear and shoulder and wincing at Feyre’s look. “I was going to stay with Andy over the holidays, anyway. And Feyre’s totally okay with it. Aren’t you, Fey?”acotarauweek 🎄 day 02: roommate au
Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand
Series: acotar au week [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566274
Comments: 22
Kudos: 159
Collections: ACOTAR AU Week





	house rules

Sometimes, Feyre’s life felt like a bad movie.

Especially now, as she sat at the kitchen table, listening to Mor talk on the phone to her cousin.

“No, Rhys. Like I said, it’s okay, don’t worry about it.” She said, securing the phone between her ear and shoulder and wincing at Feyre’s look. “I was going to stay with Andy over the holidays, anyway. And Feyre’s totally okay with it. Aren’t you, Fey?”

Feyre swallowed her many, many words about how not okay she was with the situation. Instead, she gave Mor a nod. “Yeah, it’s no problem.”

“See. She said it’s no problem.” Mor said, turning away. “So, pack your bags and get your ass over here.”

Feyre briefly, angrily wondered why anyone would want to own a townhouse, when it’s pipes decided to burst in the middle of December, leaving you without water or heating right around the holidays but she kept that observation to herself as well.

Like she had quite a few things lately.

Mor hung up, placing her phone on the counter and sighing deeply. “I know, you wanted to have a quiet holiday to paint, but all the hotels are booked until after New Year’s and-”

“Mor, it’s fine.” Feyre cut her off.

She honestly couldn’t stand more of Mor’s imploring and apologetic brown eyes. Even if she hated the idea of having Rhys stay with her for the next couple of days, she owed it to Mor.

Not just because Mor had accepted Feyre’s unexpected and a bit sudden dislike of Rhys without ever asking about the reason. Which was good, because Feyre really did not want to lie to her best friend. And there was no way in hell, she was going to tell Mor about the one night stand she had with her roommate’s cousin way back in their first semester.

Feyre wasn’t ashamed about the sex part of it. It was more about the fact that she had sex with Rhys of all people and he somehow had gotten the impression that it had meant more than just that. It wasn’t like it hadn’t been good - great, actually. Probably, the best sex of her life, if Feyre had to admit it. But that was kind of the problem.

Rhys was too good to be true.

Handsome and charming and considerate.

It felt like a trap of sorts. The kind of trap that Feyre had promised herself to not fall for again.

So, even if she thought back to that night frequently and tried to tell herself that few drinks she had must have muddled the memory, because no one could be that good in bed, she has tried to stay away from Mor’s cousin afterward.

Which had proved to be a bit difficult, because Rhys had been under the impression that their one night together would lead to more. Feyre wasn’t sure if he had expected them to continue sleeping together or to actually date, but when Rhys had asked for just the two of them to hang out, Feyre had shut him down.

And she had tried to never be alone with him for fear of him bringing up the subject. Despite a small of part of her being sure that he wouldn’t do it. That after having seen that she wasn’t interested in him like that, he would back off and try to not make her uncomfortable.

But that small part of her was why she had ever considered the notion of giving another man a chance at winning her heart. And that man had taken it and smashed it into a billion little pieces.

Even now, two years later, Feyre was still picking up the pieces. And she wouldn’t be naive or stupid enough to give it away once more.

“Hey, earth to Feyre.” Mor said, waving a hand before her face.

Feyre started, seeing Mor’s worried expression and trying to school her features into something a bit more reassuring. “I’m sorry. What did you say?” She muttered.

Mor rolled her eyes, slumping into a chair across from Feyre and running a hand through her immaculately curled hair. “Look, I know you can’t stand him, but-”

“Mor, please stop apologising.” Feyre said, standing up and picking up her now empty bowl and putting it into the sink. “It’s fine. It’s not like we’re forced to share a bed or something. Just the living room. And kitchen. And bathroom.”

Somehow she had trailed off, her face pinching as she kept talking and now Mor looked slightly amused. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

Feyre rolled her eyes and tried harder. “I have a feeling that Rhys’ is gonna be a better roommate than you. Not nearly as messy or as loud.”

Mor huffed out a breath, crossing her arms and raising her brows.

“I’m kidding.” Feyre chuckled, at the sight of her like that. “There’s no one else I’d rather clean up after.”

Mor chuckled, letting her arms fall and sighed deeply. “I have to leave soon, but if you want, I can stay until he arrives. Give him a stern talking to about the do’s and don’ts.”

“Nah. I think I can manage that.”

“I bet you do.” Mor muttered under her breath.

“Morrigan Night.” Feyre exclaimed in mock hurt and shock. “Are you suggesting that I might be bossy?”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Her best friend and roommate shot back, before darting out of her seat and cackling like a maniac, slamming the door of her bedroom.

Feyre chuckled to herself as she wiped her hands clean and then made her way into the living room to await the arrival of her doom.

\--

The doorbell rang about forty minutes after Mor had given her a bruisingly tight goodbye hug.

For a brief second, Feyre considered ignoring it. But then, she immediately felt bad and hurried over to let him in.

As always, the sight of him hit her like a ton of bricks. Not just because he was attractive, but because of the way he looked at her. Those dark blue eyes taking in her face, searching and attentive. Then, that expression melted into one of his arrogant smirks and Feyre felt the urge to slam the door into his face.

“Hello, Feyre darling.” Rhys purred. “Or should I call you roommate now?”

“I prefer you don’t speak at all, but it seems that I can’t have nice things.” Feyre shot back and turned around to slouch back into the couch.

She listened to him chuckling softly. To the sounds of him pulling off his boots, taking off his coat and shutting the door softly. Then, Feyre watched as he picked up his small suitcase and carried it towards Mor’s bedroom.

He returned after a few minutes, leaning against the doorway and looking at her expectantly.

“What?” Feyre asked, grabbing the remote and muting the tv.

He shrugged, making the movement look casual and smooth at the same time. “Mor told me you wanted to go over a few house rules.”

Feyre sighed through her nose, looking at him before deciding that she could at least make an attempt to be civil. She got up from the couch and brushed passed him into the kitchen,

“I’m making coffee, do you want some?” She asked.

“I prefer tea.” He muttered in response, his tone so low that Feyre thought he might not have intended for her to hear it.

“Of course you do.” She rolled her eyes.

But as she opened a cupboard, pointing at the various sorts of tea they had, she began talking, “First rule, no parties.”

“Obviously.” Rhys said immediately.

“No loud music, no late nights, no one night stands.”

A suggestive smirk bloomed on his face and Feyre wanted to slap herself. Five minutes in and she had managed to go there.

“With others or my roommate?” He asked, trying to look casually curious.

“With anyone.” She shot back, slamming the cupboard shut. “And you can make your own tea, you prick.”

He laughed softly, pushing off the door and coming to stand next to her. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to make sure that I understand all your rules, darling.”

Feyre pursed her lips, pouring a cup of piping hot coffee and ignoring him. “No talking.”

“Come now.” He said, his tone a bit teasing. “I ask one question and this is your reaction?”

She looked at him and she was surprised to find him so close. However, there was nothing suggestive or teasing in his face now. No, that searching expression was back on his face. Like Feyre was a puzzle and he was trying to solve her.

She pushed away from the counter, taking her cup and leaving him there.

She could deal with him staying over, as long as she didn’t stay that close for him that long.

“Rule seven, you’re doing the dishes.” She called over her shoulder and his soft chuckle followed her back into the living room.

\--

During the next two days, Feyre was both surprised and not. At least not really.

She wasn’t really surprised that Rhys didn’t step on her toes. Or that he followed her rules - except for the no talking rule. He even took care of the dishes.

But she was a little surprised at how well they worked together. As roommates, that is.

When she closed the door to her bedroom, she rarely heard any sounds coming from him. And when she did, it was Rhys on the phone assuring Mor that everything was fine. At least from his side. Usually those talks would be followed by Feyre’s own phone ringing.

The first morning Feyre had stumbled out of her room, rubbing at her eyes and surprised to find Rhys already up and going. By the time she had left the bathroom, a cup of hot coffee -- just the way she liked it -- had been waiting at the kitchen table for her.

Rhys had been in the living room, sipping his own tea quietly and didn’t say anything about it. She had sat down next to him on the couch and it had been a serenely quiet winter morning.

Like she had told Mor, Feyre spent most of her free time painting. Despite the cold weather, her window was cracked open so that the smell of her paints didn’t make her feel dizzy. She wore a huge sweater, its long sleeves covered in paint splatters.

On Christmas Eve, she was bent over a canvas, carefully dotting paint on when Rhys knocked on her door. After she called him in, he pushed the door open a bit and said, “I know you’re busy, but I made dinner.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. And a chuckle fell from her lips at the sight of Rhys in sweatpants, a t-shirt and Mor’s favorite apron on top of it all.

The apron was hot pink. With doodles of hearts and lips and huge block letters that spelled out the phrase _kiss the cook_. Andy had bought it for her a couple months back and Mor had insisted on wearing it even when she made scrambled eggs.

Feyre had to admit that even though Mor was gorgeous, Rhys pulled off the look much, _much_ better.

“Shit.” He cursed, wrapping his arms around himself. “It’s freezing in here.”

She chuckled again, feeling lighthearted and realizing that she was indeed starving. Feyre put her brush into a cup of stained water, then got to her feet. “It’s either the cold or the fumes.”

His eyes strayed from her to the canvas, then quickly flicked back to her. As if he hadn’t meant to look. A bit of guilt crept into his eyes.

It was incredibly endearing. “It’s fine. You can look at it.”

His eyes danced back to the painting, a smile blooming on his lips. After a bit, he spoke in a quiet voice, “You’re very talented.”

She rolled her eyes, gesturing for him to lead the way.

He straightened up, turning on his heel and leading her into the living room. Feyre swallowed her gasp at the sight. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but this wasn’t it.

Two plates of steaming pasta, a bowl of salad, a bottle of wine and two glasses. Feyre looked at him, then at herself and back at the coffee table.

“I thought this would be cosier than the kitchen.”

Feyre nodded, then remembering that her hands were paint-stained, she excused herself to clean up. As she washed her hands, she told herself that this wasn’t a date. That she and Mor had had dinners like that a million times before. That roommates ate meals together. It didn’t mean there was any ulterior goals behind it.

But as soon as she sat down on the couch and Rhys held the bottle of wine up in question, Feyre couldn’t help but feel like there might be.

Still, she ate and drank. And couldn’t help the appreciative hum she let out at the first bite.

“Good, huh?” Rhys asked, brows raising. Even as he himself dug in, too.

“I might have to keep you, if you’re this good of a cook.” Feyre said, belatedly realizing what she had said.

Rhys’ eyes glowed with amusement.

They ate dinner in silence after that. Feyre wolfing down her own plate of food, not having realized before that she hadn’t eaten all day.

Then, once their plates were clean, Feyre made to gather up the dishes but Rhys stopped her by curling his fingers around her wrist. “Did you forget your own rules?” He asked, smiling at the wide-eyed look she shot him. “I’m responsible for the dishes.”

But Feyre was already shaking her head, pulling out of his grasp. “You cooked food. It’s the least I can do.”

His eyes searched her face for a moment, then he nodded.

Feyre had expected him to lean back into the cushions and finish up his glass of wine. Instead, he followed her into the kitchen. She raised her brows at him, but began washing up.

Only when he picked up a towel did Feyre realize that he hadn’t actually given in. And that he was still following her rules. She couldn’t help but smile at that.

Afterwards, she didn’t go back into her room.

Instead, they returned to the couch and their wine and watched a cheesy Christmas movie for the rest of the evening.

\--

Feyre was returning from a bathroom break, when she found a neatly wrapped package occupying her place on the couch.

“What’s that?” She asked, voice laced with suspicion.

“A gift.” Rhys replied, not looking away from the tv.

“I can see that. What for?”

“It’s Christmas.”

“So?”

Finally, Rhys turned to face her. His eyes took in the arms crossed over her chest, her disgruntled face and sighed softly. “Friends give each other gifts on Christmas. We’re friends.”

Feyre swallowed. “I- I don’t have a gift for you. I can’t accept it.”

He smiled. “Then, take it as a thank you for letting me stay with you gift. Or a belated birthday gift.”

Feyre flushed. She could argue the point. Could refuse and return to her room and brood in silence. But-- but, she was curious what Rhys had gotten for her.

So, slowly as if the gift was a scared animal, Feyre approached it. She felt Rhys’ gaze on her as she unwrapped it and only to find a finely made leather sketchbook.

At first she was too awed by the soft, buttery texture of the pages to notice the initials carved into the cover. Her initials.

Feyre looked up to find Rhys smiling at her.

She swallowed again, blinking rapidly because somehow she felt overwhelmed by all of this. “Rhys- I can’t.” She whispered, making to push the sketchbook into his lap.

But for the second time that evening, Rhys’ hands wrapped around hers to stop her from moving. “Please, don’t say that.”

She looked at him and wondered how they had managed to get so close to each other. In the dim light of the living room, his eyes looked almost violet and there was a strange gleam in them. A gleam that she had no doubt was mirrored in her own.

“I can’t do this.” She whispered. Feyre had never been very open with her emotions, but right now. It didn’t feel like she was admitting to her biggest fears. It felt as though she was sharing a piece of herself with someone who wouldn’t judge her for it.

“Why?”

And the look in his eyes told her that he had understood. Understood, that she wasn’t talking about accepting the gift, but about whatever it was that was between them.

“Why?” She echoed, leaning out of his magnetic field and taking a shaky breath. “ _Why_?”

Even to her own ears she sounded a bit hysterical as she got to her feet and turned to look down at Rhys.

“How can you ask me that? You know why, Rhys. I know Mor told you all about it, so don’t act like you don’t know. And look at you.” She gestured to him, arms flailing. “You’re fucking perfect. You’re so nice and charming and so fucking perfect and it feels too good to be true. Someone like you can’t be real.”

He just looked at her. His eyes unreadable and mouth tightening. “You think this is fake? That I’m trying to trick you?”

“No.” Feyre replied, feeling sick by how even and low his voice had gone. “Yes. I don’t know. Rhys, I just don’t know and that’s the problem. I don’t trust myself. I can’t just give away my heart. Because if I do, I’m not in charge of it. If I do that, I will be at the mercy of someone else. And you might not understand that because-”

“But I do.” He cut in, his voice midnight soft.

She stopped talking, dropping her arms to her sides and looked at him.

And as she did so, he rose to his feet and stepped so close that the warmth of his body radiated into her skin.

“You think you’re the only one who’s been hurt? You think that I’m perfect, that I don’t know how it feels to give yourself over to someone and be helpless when they tear you apart bit by bit? Mor didn’t tell me anything about what happened to you, Feyre. Just as she didn’t tell you anything about what happened to me.”

“I-” Feyre started, looking up into his face. “I didn’t know.”

He let out a soft breath, the corners of his mouth pulling up faintly. “That much is obvious.”

And then, she became aware of the fact that she had just spewed out a whole lot of admissions. She had called him perfect and had admitted to wanting him. Not just whatever had happened between them, but more than that.

And he-- he didn’t seem to be cowed by it. He hadn’t even blinked.

Instead, he looked like he was gathering up his courage for.. something.

“You know, despite having had my heart broken before, I have found it in me to entrust another person with it again. And I can’t really find myself regretting it.”

Oh. Was that his way of letting her know that he wasn’t interested in her like that? That he had someone else in his life and Feyre had misunderstood all his searching looks?

“I don’t think that she realizes how much power she has over me.” Rhys said, something like amusement in his voice now. “And even if she hasn’t broken my heart, _yet_ , it certainly feels like she’s trying her best to do so. Especially when she won’t accept my Christmas gifts.”

Feyre blinked. Blinked and blinked as her heart began beating hard in her chest. Rhys watched her, his eyes flickering over her face, getting stuck on her lips before sliding back up to her eyes.

“Rhys-”

“I understand that you might not be ready to give your heart away, I do.” He said. “I just need you to know that you already have mine. And you having my heart, it doesn’t frighten me. Not because I know what’s going to happen or what you’re going to do, but because from the first moment I saw you, I couldn’t stay away. I didn’t want to stay away and I trust you, I trust that you will-”

Feyre didn’t let him finish. She lurched forward, gripping him by his neck and pressing her lips to his.

For a heartbeat, he went still and then, he sighed into her mouth, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer.

Their foreheads pressed together and Feyre couldn’t help but smile. Even as she felt tears pool at the corner of her eyes, she smiled. “Please don’t make me regret this.” She whispered in a small voice.

He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, then to the other. When he pulled away, there was a far too serious look in his eyes and it sobered Feyre’s emotions enough.

“Is that a rule?” The teasing tone didn’t match his serious eyes. “Because I’m pretty sure you know by now that I’m very good at following those.”

Feyre burst out laughing and then, she pulled him back down to her and kissed him again. And again and again.


End file.
